


Bowl Of Oranges

by waywardbird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, canon!verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardbird/pseuds/waywardbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Baby don't you worry, 'coz now I got your back.<br/>And every time you feel like crying,<br/>I'm gonna try and make you laugh."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowl Of Oranges

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fluffy little oneshot my friend asked me to write her. Destiel + pancakes because why the hell not. Kinda goes with the song Bowl Of Oranges by Bright Eyes. In my mind, anyway.

“Dean.”

Face buried into cushion.

“Dean.”

Irritated groan.

 _“Dean.”_  

“No.”

“ _Dean._ This is _important_.”

Dean sat up from the chair he had fallen asleep in the night before, and stared sleepily at Cas.

“ _What do you want?”_

“I think I may be dying, Dean.”

“You’re not dying, Cas.”

“How would you know? You are not me.” the former angel said with an indignant sniff.

“Fine. Okay. What’s the problem?”

“For a number of days now, I have begun to feel a strange empty sensation in my stomach region. It feels as though I crave something, but I do not know what. I have never felt this when I was an angel. It seems quite urgent. It is growing stronger by the hour. What is going on?”

Dean rubbed his face tiredly and stared at him for a minute.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I am most certainly not ‘shitting’ you, Dean.” Cas stated impatiently, making angry finger quotes in the air as he spoke. “I am fearing for my life and the physical well-being of my vessel. This is not a ‘shitting’ matter.”

Dean stared at him in shock. He really didn’t know.

“Cas. You’re not dying. You’re hungry. You need food.”

“I have never ingested food during my time as an angel, and have felt no adverse effects of that before.”

“I guess angels don’t need food, then. Humans do, though.”

“I do not know how I am to acquire food myself. I cannot cook, and I am unskilled at dealing with your monetary system.” Cas said miserably, shoulders drooping under Jimmy Novak’s old trench coat.

Dean couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, and with a sigh, he said

“Fine. Come on. I’ll teach you how to make breakfast.”

………………………………………………………………………………….

After a run to the store in town, the two returned to Bobby’s kitchen, where Dean set about getting all the plates and pans ready. Cas hovered awkwardly as per usual, but Dean motioned him over. He was gonna teach an angel of the lord how to make pancakes if it was the last thing he ever did, godammit.

He poured all the ingredients into a mixing bowl.

“You gotta use real milk and eggs and everything, okay? None of that store-bought powder mix shit. If you’re gonna make pancakes, you gotta do it right.” Dean advised Cas wisely as he passed him the bowl to stir.

“So you mix all that stuff together, and then your pour some onto this pan here. Just a little bit, and then you wait for one side to cook, then flip it over, let that side cook, then put it on a plate and start a new one. Easy.”

Cas nodded, looking enraptured, taking mental notes on Dean’s every action.

After a grand total of six pancakes had been made, Dean scooped three onto each plate, drizzling maple syrup on top and carrying them to the table where Cas already sat, looking skittish as he always did.

As Dean dug in, Cas took a hesitant bite, and a beam stretched across his face.

“These are very good, Dean. I like pancakes.”

“So do I.” he replied through a mouthful.

“How do you know how to make these?”

The hunter’s face softened just a little. “My mom used to make em when me and Sammy were little. She’d cook em into shapes and stuff.”

Cas sensed the importance of the memory and smiled a little at the fact that Dean was sharing with him.

“That sounds nice.”

“It was.”

Sam walked into the room just then, pulling on his coat and talking 100 miles an hour.

“Dean. There’s this case like two cities over that one of Bobby’s friends picked up before he had to leave town. Looks like just your good old-fashioned vengeful ghost that needs ganking. Should be home by nightfall. You in?”

Dean sighed, but got up to clean his now-empty plate and shrug on his old leather jacket. “Yeah, I’m in. See you later, Cas.” He said as they walked out to the Impala.

The former angel sat there sullenly for a minute after they pulled off. Stupid ghosts, making his Dean leave him and their pancakes just so he could go burn their stupid bones. Plus he always came back tired and irritated, arms scraped up and hair speckled with dirt. Cas supposed that digging up graves and being attacked by crazy ectoplasmic beings all day would indeed do that to a person. He’d always grumble that he was getting too old for this, and that all he ever wanted to do was just lie down and watch some porn and eat some pie, goddammit.

Cas didn’t have porn or pie, but suddenly, he did have an idea.

He strode into the next room with purpose, declaring

“Bobby. I require your assistance.”

“Whadaya want, idjit?”

“I need you to bring me to the supermarket immediately.”

………………………………………………………………………………….

Cas felt a jolt inside him as he picked up the sound of the old Impala rumbling down the driveway. He busied himself with fixing his tie as Sam staggered inside and flopped down on the couch in the next room over. He heard the door swing open once more, and felt Dean’s heavy boots hitting the floor as he took off his jacket.

He grabbed the plate off the table, and thrust it toward Dean the moment he turned around.

Dean stared at it for a few moments.

‘It’ was a chipped but carefully washed plate, on which sat the results of Cas’ day of hard work, slaving over a mixing bowl and frying pan.

A pile of halfway crispy, slightly disfigured but still obviously heart-shaped, pancakes.

“Did you-“

“Yes. I made them.” Cas informed him, with his best I-am-staring-sexily-into-your-recently-reconstructed-soul look.

“Oh.” Dean said intelligently, looking from the plate to Cas’ face and back again.

Cas was getting nervous now, feeling Dean's gaze rest on him. “I-I just thought you’d like them, because you’re always hungry when you get back and you-“

He would’ve babbled some more, if Dean hadn’t taken one sweeping movement to slide the plate down on the table, grab him by the tie, and pull him forward to press his lips against his own.

He smiled into the kiss. It tasted like maple syrup.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Reviews + comments would rock my world. xo


End file.
